by Aubrey Dark
“It’s alright,” I said, trying to comfort her. “I thought your dish was the best out of all of them.”
“It’s not alright! He hated it! How am I supposed to impress him now?”
“I—I’m sure you’ll do fine in the next competition—”
She looked up at me with a face splotched with tears.
“This was my contest! Cooking is all I can do! I don’t have any other talents! I’m going to lose the next contest and I won’t have a chance at all, and they won’t want me to have a cooking show after this, and… and…”
She burst into a fresh set of sobs. I rubbed her on the back and handed her a tissue.
“Oh, baby,” I said. “You’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”
I didn’t know what to say. It took me back to high school, when Emma had broken up with her first boyfriend. I tried to be comforting, but I had no idea how to go about it. I wasn’t really the nurturing type. Not to mention, I hadn’t yet had a boyfriend of my own.
I was just as unprepared to deal with this kind of crisis.
“I thought your tuna was awesome,” I insisted.
“Really?”
“Really. I ate it all, didn’t I?”
She nodded, blowing her nose into another tissue. It was true. After Dylan had blanched at the semi-raw fish, I’d snuck a fork onto Kate’s plate and finished it for him.
“It was delicious. Super delicious.”
“Then why didn’t he like it?” she sobbed.
“Because he has juvenile taste buds,” I said. “His palate is nonexistent.”
“He liked your dish!”
“Exactly. A completely fried, fatty, oversalted monstrosity. If one of us had served him a Happy Meal, he would have picked that.”
Kate hiccuped back a laugh through her tears.
“Don’t feel bad. You did great, and I’m sure you’ll do fine in the next contest. Come on. Let’s go murder one of those bottles of wine I saw in the kitchen pantry and play some Mario Kart.”
“Mario Kart?”
“Yeah, they have a Nintendo out in the living room. Wine and Mario Kart. That’ll make you feel better.”
She nodded, blotting her eyes with a fresh tissue. We walked out of the room with my arm around her.
“Thanks, Lisa.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I bet you’ll win the whole thing.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“Her?”
I looked up. Mia was already in the kitchen, a sour expression on her face. I guessed that Piers hadn’t taken her for a ride in the elevator, unless he had really broken a time record. For some reason, relief washed over me.
“You’re not going to win,” Mia said, staring at me with obvious hatred. “Neither one of you.”
“Really?” I asked. “How do you know? Did Piers tell you that you were Dylan’s top choice?”
From the anger that flashed across Mia’s face, Piers had told her nothing of the sort. But she turned up her nose.
“You really don’t belong here,” she said, her gaze floating haughtily down my pajama pants. “You’re not the right kind of girl for a billionaire.”
“No,” I agreed sarcastically. “You’re right. Most billionaires love princess bitches with silicone implants.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“We should just give up now and go home!” I said, throwing my hands up in the air. “But before I surrender, I’ve got a date with a glass of Merlot.”
I pushed my way past her. Kate followed me into the kitchen meekly.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. “You can’t say stuff like that to her!”
“Sure I can,” I said, pouring out two glasses of wine. “I mean, I’m not one hundred percent sure those are fake, but they sure don’t bounce like normal boobs—”
“Shhh!” Kate said, looking furtively behind her to where Mia had been standing.
“What? I thought half the fun of reality TV was infighting and drama.”
“You don’t want to get on Mia’s bad side,” Kate warned, her eyes growing wide.
“Oh? Why not?”
“Did you hear what she did to Lucy?”
I squinted, trying to remember who Lucy was.
“The one who lost, remember?”
“Oh, right,” I said. “The one with the burned garlic.”
“It was Mia who did it,” Kate whispered. “I saw her turning up the burner.”
“What?! Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t want to be her next target! She tried to sabotage a lot of people. Remember, she was the one who took all the caviar. And she switched the cilantro with the basil—that’s why Julie’s pesto came out weird. Although I don’t know why Julie didn’t realize they’d been switched; I mean, cilantro looks nothing like basil—”
“Why didn’t Mia get kicked off the show for that!? Surely the cameras must have picked it up!”
Kate shook her head sadly.
“You said it yourself,” she said. “They love infighting and drama. They won’t kick her off. Anyway, I heard that she has some sort of connection to the producers.”
“Connection?”
I bet she was sleeping with one of the producers. That would make sense. She seemed like the kind of girl who would do anything to win. Including sticking her tits in the face of some rich TV guy.
“I’m just saying… be careful around her.” Kate’s eyes locked onto mine. “You can’t trust anyone on this show.”
“Trust no one,” I echoed, lifting my glass. She was too young to get the X-Files reference, but she toasted to it anyway. Our glasses clinked, sloshing the red wine.
“Trust no one.”
Chapter Sixteen
“You can’t wear that to the party!”
I looked at my outfit. I was wearing the slinky green dress that Emma and Jessica had agreed made me look mature and elegant. The silken fabric pooled around my ankles. I thought I looked great. But Kate was shaking her head.
“What’s the matter with this dress?” I asked. I frowned. “Are you trying to sabotage me? I’m not wearing pajamas to this contest.”
“I’m not sabotaging!” Kate exclaimed, pink rising to her cheeks. “But it’s a cocktail party.”
“So?”
“So you need to wear a cocktail dress.”
“This isn’t a cocktail dress?”
“No,” Kate said, crossing her arms in disapproval. “It’s way too long. That dress is like something you would wear to the opera.”
“I don’t have any short dresses,” I said. “This will be fine.”
“It won’t—Julie! Julie, come here!”
Julie popped her head into our room. She was a beautiful slim redhead, with freckles sprinkled along her nose and cheeks. And she, like Kate, was wearing a knee-length dress.
“What’s up—whoa!” she said, looking at me. “Are you going to a red carpet event?”
“Exactly,” Kate said. “Tell her she can’t wear this dress to the party.”
“Of course not,” Julie said, shaking her head so that her wavy red locks glimmered in the light. “It’s not a cocktail dress.”
“Of course it isn’t,” I grumbled. “What on earth was I thinking?”
“Thank you,” Kate said. Julie disappeared back out of the room. “Now will you listen to me?”
“Sure. But that doesn’t solve my problem. I don’t have a cocktail dress.”
“No problem! You can wear one of mine!” Kate dug through the closet. I was impressed at how many clothes she’d managed to bring with her. I’d only brought a couple of dresses and my pant suit ensemble. I’d expected to fail out of the competition on the first contest, after all. Now that I was heading to a cocktail party, I was woefully unprepared.
“I don’t think I’ll fit into your size,” I said.
“I have one that’s super baggy,” Kate said, with no hint of insult in her voice. “Let me just— here it
is!”
She pulled out a green satin sheath that was embroidered with gold.
“See!” she chirped. “It’s even the same color!”
I pulled on the dress reluctantly. It was definitely still one size too small for me, but I managed to wriggle into it without suffocating myself. Getting out of it would be another story. I tugged the hem down, and stared at myself in the mirror.
“Well, it’s definitely shorter,” I said. Kate was petite, and her dress hit me mid-thigh. The sheath hugged my curves tightly. “You don’t think it’s too sexy?”
“Maybe. It’s definitely not as baggy as I remember.”
I clapped my hand over my face, trying not to laugh. She really was clueless, wasn’t she?
“I think it’s fine, though. And, that will make up for wearing pajamas on the first day,” she continued.
“Hey, Dylan liked my pajamas!”
But she was right and I knew it. Before I knew it, she had taken over picking out my accessories—a dozen gold bangles on each wrist, jade earrings set in gold pendants— and moved on to doing my makeup. I threw my hands up and let her apply what seemed like pounds of eyeshadow to my face.
When I finally looked at myself in the mirror, I didn’t even recognize the person who looked back. My eyes had a smoky gray around them and she’d lined my lids out to a point, making them seem catlike. A gold shimmer dusted my eyelids.
“I think that’s enough,” I said, as Kate poofed me with gold everywhere. She hit my cheeks, my hair, my neck all the way down into my cleavage. Gold everywhere. “I feel like I’m in a James Bond movie.”
“That’s right!” Kate said. “You are way sexy! Dylan is going to love this!”
“Thanks!” I said, smoothing down the hem in front. That thought honestly hadn’t even crossed my mind.
I was wondering what Piers would think.
No. It didn’t matter what Piers thought. I wasn’t here for him. I was here for a billionaire.
No. I was here for a story. And so far, I had a lot of good material. Backstabbing bitches with fake boobs. A very nice but very ditzy airhead roommate. Plenty to write about. That was really why I was here.
Right?
“Time to go, ladies!”
Piers’ voice came from the front room, and a shiver went down my back.
To my dismay, Piers didn’t even notice me in my new cocktail dress. He glanced at me exactly once, and then made a point of not looking at me again until we arrived at the party. It was irritating as hell. I wanted to be the one ignoring him, not the other way around.
And worse than that, I couldn’t ignore him. He was jaw-droppingly beautiful in a suit, and this one was a doozy. Expensive fabric that made me want to rub my hands up his back, sharp lines that showed his tall, strong figure off to best advantage. He was a man born to wear a suit, and he walked like he knew it. That sort of confidence was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.
Ugh. It should have been appalling. Rationally, I thought it was. But whenever he caught my eye, I found myself melting inside at the thought of those hands wrapping around my waist, those lips taking mine again. He was like a decadent chocolate mousse cheesecake. Dark and rich and utterly bad for me. Still, I couldn’t help but lick my lips as I followed him out of the limo.
“Welcome to the party!” Piers said, as we traipsed up to the top of a set of concrete steps and stood there, shivering.
“This is a library,” someone said from the back of the group. I squinted up at the building in front of us. New York City Public Library.
“Not tonight,” Piers said. “The Chase family is throwing a cocktail reception here tonight in your honor. They want to get to know you better, to see if you have what it takes to be part of their society of friends. You’re not just wowing a billionaire tonight, you’re here to wow his family, too.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to meet his family,” Kate whispered to me. “I bet they’re as nice and wonderful as him!”
I didn’t know what she meant. Dylan hadn’t seemed particularly nice or wonderful, at least from what I’d seen in the first contest. He’d seemed… hungry. And that was it. But Kate seemed smitten.
“So without further ado,” Piers said, gesturing into the library, “let’s join the party!”
Inside the library was warm and bright. The high marble ceilings were lit with faux candelabras and strung with garlands of white orchids. Already there were dozens of people inside. All of the men were dressed in suits and ties, and all of the women were decked out in gobs of diamond jewelry.
A murmur went through our group, and I scanned the room. I saw him. Dylan Chase.
“Wow,” Julie said from behind me.
Wow was right. Dylan wasn’t that impressive in ripped jeans and a T-shirt, but he cleaned up nice. He was wearing a light gray suit that stood out among the dark suits of the older men. His blond hair was parted nicely to the side, and he’d shaved off his scruff. The lines of the suit edged his muscles, making his broad physique more subtly imposing. He looked like the All-American golden boy that I imagined he had been raised as.
“Try to behave yourselves,” Piers said, acknowledging our reaction. “Don’t mob him. Remember, you’re here to make a good impression on everyone at the party, not just him. Now, please enjoy yourselves and have a good—”
Before he could even finish, Dylan had waved over at the group. And despite Piers’ warning, half of the girls went stampeding across the room toward him.
“Shall we get a cocktail, Kate?” I asked. Her eyes lifted away from Dylan’s figure and her blonde eyelashes fluttered.
“Sure,” she said. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
We wandered over to the table where waiters were handing out drinks. I ordered a martini and Kate ordered a screwdriver.
“Orange juice is my favorite,” she said, looking down at my cocktail. “But you look so much fancier with that. Should I get a martini, too?”
“Drink what you like,” I said, shrugging.
“Are you two girls with the television show?”
We turned around to see a tall middle-aged blonde woman wearing a cream dress that sparkled with diamonds. The man attached at her arm had gray hair, and he looked utterly bored.
“Yes,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m Lisa.”
The woman’s gaze swept down my dress, lingering at my hemline. I itched to pull the dress down, but I couldn’t do it now without seeming weird.
“I’m Kate,” Kate said, shaking hands limply with the blonde woman.
“We’re Dylan’s parents,” the woman said. “I’m Marjorie and this is my husband Joseph.”
“So good to meet you!” Kate exclaimed.
“What do you ladies do for a living?” Marjorie asked, her eyes narrowing.
“I’m a writer for Moi magazine,” I said.
“And you?” Her head swiveled toward Kate. I guess it was interrogation time.
“I—uh—I work at a restaurant. It’s—um, it’s a French restaurant.” Kate was stumbling over her words. I didn’t know why she was so nervous.
“You’re a waitress?” I could almost see Marjorie’s nose lifting in the air.
“No, I’m an assistant chef,” Kate said.
“Ah. Very well. We should go meet the other girls.” Again, she looked down at my dress with a pointed look. She shook her head slightly as she moved off, her husband in tow, to go bother the two contestants April and Heidi at the cocktail bar.
“What a total bitch,” I said. “Imagine having that for a mother in law. Almost makes me want to lose on purpose.”
“I don’t think she liked me,” Kate said mournfully.
“She liked you just fine.”
“Hey! You met my mom!”
Dylan, coming out of nowhere behind us, clapped one hand on Kate’s shoulder and one hand on mine.
“Hi Dylan,” Kate said nervously. I just sipped my martini.
“You’re both looking awesome. Love
that dress, Lisa. It looks awesome!” He leaned back and ogled my butt until I turned sideways.
“Thanks,” I said. “Kate let me borrow it for tonight.”
“Wow, yeah, looks great. And your hair is awesome.” He petted Kate’s long blonde hair, and I caught the scent of alcohol on his breath. “So pretty and soft.”
“How many drinks have you had already, Dylan?” I asked.
“Like, a million! Open bars are so awesome. You know, family get togethers.”
“Can’t be sober for that!” I said, raising my martini in a toast.
“For reals! What did you talk about with my mom?”
“Oh, she was just asking us about our jobs. I’m a writer and Kate here is a chef.”
“Assistant chef,” Kate added.
“Wow,” Dylan said, bobbing his head. “That’s…that’s…”
“Awesome?” I helped finish his sentence.
“Yeah! Exactly!”
“What restaurant do you work at, anyway, Kate?” I asked.
Kate’s jaw tensed.
“I—well, I’ve worked at a few different places since moving to New York. Excuse me,” she said suddenly. “I think I need to use the bathroom.”
She hurried off down the library hallway and Dylan walked away, presumably to tell all of the other girls how awesome they looked.
I frowned as I thought about how Kate had abandoned the conversation. What on earth was wrong with her tonight? She had seemed fine until Dylan’s mom had started probing us with questions. And I had hoped to turn the conversation with Dylan more towards her and her work, since she was obviously so passionate about cooking. But—
A tap on my shoulder made me lose my train of thought. I turned around to see Piers standing right behind me. His eyes were a sharp, piercing green-blue, and he looked amazing in his charcoal suit. If Dylan looked like a golden angel tonight, Piers looked like the devil who would tempt me into sin.
“Care to dance?”
“No, thanks.”
“Actually, you’re not allowed to say no.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I’m not? And here I thought we were well into the third wave of feminism—”
“A dance with me is part of the competition,” Piers explained. “One of Dylan’s aunts is a professional ballroom dancer, and she wants to see a demonstration from each of you.”